


All's Fair

by katnissdoesnotfollowback (lost_on_cloud_9)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Military, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, immature pranks, with a smidge of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-16 18:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12348156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_on_cloud_9/pseuds/katnissdoesnotfollowback
Summary: They say that all's fair in love and war, but Katniss isn't in a war yet. She's in college. And college is stressful enough when you don't have to worry about impressing your cadet corps or pulling off a flawless prank. But Katniss is determined to succeed, willing to go to great lengths to get what she wants.Originally written as birthday gifts for three different bloggers via everlarkbirthdaydrabbles on tumblr.





	1. The Prank

“You sure you know how to pick one of these things?”

 

“Yep,” I whisper as I continue to work quietly. Not as fast as I’d like since my hands are shaking.

 

“Damn, Everdeen, where’d you learn to pick a lock?”

 

“Senior prank in high school,” Gale explains to them quietly. “I hotwired the principal’s car and she picked the lock on the hockey rink so we could park it on the ice.”

 

“Nice,” Mitchell says.

 

“You scare me, Everdeen,” someone else mutters. A third snorts in response and Gale reminds them to keep their eyes open. 

 

We’ve only got an hour to complete our mission. I just can’t believe the senior cadets picked  _ this _ for our squad. Technically, our assignments are selected by lottery a week in advance, but I'm still not convinced that they don't  _ know  _ and rigged the drawing. Gale’s reminders that targeting the Air Force cadets on campus is a pretty standard assignment did little to dispel my worries when I've basically had to lie to someone I care about for a week. And I've never been a great liar.

 

With a satisfying, click, the lock springs free, and I hold the door open, motioning for my squad mates to get inside quickly with their bags of JB Weld and cans of silly string. We’ve already blinded the cameras on the outside, and they move quickly through the darkened hall to blind the interior ones while I lock the door behind us. Just in case.

 

Gale finds the right room and motions for us to follow.

 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. I thought they were shitting us,” Mitchell mutters and Gale nods as we all stare at the gleaming wood table.

 

“Nothing says Chair Force like a fucking pool table in your ROTC detachment,” Holmes says.

 

As one, we tilt our heads back and look up at the plaster ceiling.

 

“Think it’ll hold?” I ask.

 

“Only one way to find out,” Gale says and drops his bag on the floor. We’ve just got one side of the pool table lifted to flip it over when the jingle and then the scrape of a key in a lock renders all of us wide-eyed and immobile.

 

“Shit!” Thresh says and douses the flashlight as we all scramble to hide our gear and ourselves in dark corners of the room.

 

“It’s three in the morning. What the fuck is one of them doing in here?”

 

“I thought Zoomies needed their beauty rest.”

 

I hush them all as the door we came through earlier opens and the lights in the hallway flicker on. Heavy footsteps tread down the hallway, and we all remain motionless. Breathlessly hoping to avoid detection.

 

A cadet in creased, dark blue pants and a crisp, light blue shirt walks by the open doorway, his head bent and eyes focused on the phone in his hand. Black bookbag slung over his left shoulder and a blue flight cap hung neatly in his belt. His black shoes shining and flaring in the hall lights. I have to hold back a groan. The odds are clearly against me tonight.

 

_ Why did it have to be him? _

 

We remain silent and still as he unlocks a door further down the hall. His keys jingle as he drops them on a desk and then his bag thuds onto the floor. A zipper and then books on a desk. It’s otherwise so quiet that we can even hear his chair squeak as he sits down. When the air conditioner kicks on, Gale motions for us to move on him, and we gather around him.

 

“What the fuck do we do now?” Mitchell hisses. 

 

“Wait him out,” Jackson suggests.

 

“We gotta report back to Boggs by o-four-hundred. There’s no telling how long he’ll be here,” Thresh argues.

 

Holmes produces a handful of zip cuffs from his pocket and grins. “We could use these.”

 

“We can’t tie him up,” I whisper indignantly. “Why did you even bring those?”

 

“Why not?” Gale asks. 

 

“Yeah. Prank plus prisoner. We’d get a shit ton of bonus points for that.”

 

“Give me those,” I mutter and snatch them out of Holmes’ hand, stuffing them in one of the cargo pockets of my pants. The cadet down the hall coughs and we all freeze for a moment, not talking again until we hear the steady drumming of fingers on a keyboard. I release a slow breath and glare at my squad mates before explaining my thrown together just this second plan.

 

“If we jump him and tie him up, it could get out of hand. I know him from one of my classes last year. I’ll go distract him and cuff him if I need to while you guys finish the mission and get out of here. I think he’s in a room with a window, if I’ve got the layout of this place right. So toss a pebble or something at the window when you’re done -- DON’T break it,” I say to Holmes when he opens his mouth. “And I’ll meet back up with you outside, okay?”

 

“How’re ya gonna distract him, Everdeen?” Mitchell says and wiggles his eyebrows at me. Gale punches him in the arm. “Ow. Dude.”

 

“Leave that to me,” I whisper. “Just let me get the door shut before you all get back to work. And try to be quiet.”

 

With a deep breath, I make my way out to the hallway and slink down it’s length towards the open door. I can’t believe that I have to do this. Fuck it all. Pausing outside the lit room where the intruder continues pounding on the keyboard, I glance at the cardstock label in a slip cover announcing that this is the Cadet Wing Vice Commander office. Yep. It’s definitely him and not a figment of my overwrought imagination.

 

I glance back at my team. Mitchell is grinning and Holmes gives me a thumbs up. Thresh and Jackson look unimpressed. Gale is scowling. Well, so much for secrets, I think and step inside the small room that’s set up as a kind of office, shutting and locking the door behind me.

 

Peeta glances up at the noise and I stare back at him for a moment, my tongue tied and my pulse pounding. Confusion clears the way for happiness on his face and that only makes me feel worse.

 

“Hey,” he says softly. “I thought you had some sort of drill.”

 

“Finished early and saw you come in here.” I’m only lying slightly, but he nods, eyes skimming over my form, clad in camo pants and a black shirt, while I steal a glance at the window and hide my relief that it’s got blinds -- which are closed -- but no curtains. My squad will easily be able to find the right one but not be able to actually see us.

 

“Covert op?” he asks and I nod, focusing back on him. “Well, I’m glad you stopped by.”

 

He stands and my insides turn to melted butter. I remind myself that I am training to be a soldier. An officer in the Army, and I can’t keep letting a pair of sweet pink lips and deep blue eyes distract me. Especially not since  _ I’m _ supposed to be distracting  _ him _ right now.

 

“What’re you doing up so early?” I ask dumbly, gripping the door handle as he crosses the small space towards me. My nerves tightening with every passing second.

 

“Couldn’t sleep after you left,” he murmurs. “Thought I might as well get up and get a head start on that psyc paper I have due next week. If I finish it early, I can spend the weekend with you.”

 

“And the uniform…?” I trail off and finger the buttons on his shirt. He moves my hand aside so I don’t ruin his perfect alignment.

 

“Have to wear it today anyways and didn’t feel like dragging it around campus.”

 

“Makes sense,” I say as warmth curls low in my belly. He’s handsome in anything, but for some reason, I love the way he looks in his blues. Still, I need to keep Peeta busy. Our mission could potentially cause a lot of noise. I’ve no sooner thought it, than it happens. Quiet enough that I could pass it off as something else, but Peeta’s eyes lift off my face, confusion wrinkling his brow. 

 

I do the only thing I can think of in the moment. I throw my arms around him and kiss him, his sound of surprise muffled beneath my lips.

 

Willing him to forget the noise and respond to me, I caress the back of his neck, moaning slightly when his hands finally press into my spine, holding me close to him. I watch his lashes, distractingly long and blonde, as his eyes slide shut and he breathes deeply through his nose. I hold his head to mine and try to fight back the hunger growing deep inside me.

 

Focused. I need to stay focused.

 

But kissing Peeta isn’t exactly helping my concentration. Not when he slides one hand up my back to tangle in my braided hair and keep me in place. Not when his tongue traces over my lips and I know I have to let him in or risk his suspicion. Guilt fills me right along with the need as he deepens the kiss. I can’t help feeling that I’m using him, but it’s his fault for walking in here in the middle of our task.

 

“Katniss,” he murmurs as I try to maneuver us away from the door. I’m wondering if I can just kiss him for an hour, but then he ruins the chances of that. He shifts his mouth to kiss my neck and my knees shake as I shiver and fall into him for support. “Since you’re done, do you think we could go back to bed for a few hours?”

 

I can feel the upwards tilt of his lips as he smiles against my skin. Heat, already blooming in my chest, suffuses to the tips of my body, curls low in my center. I whine a little as his teeth scrape over my collar bone. I need to keep it together and keep him in this room until they’re done. And the last thing I need is for the others to figure me out. I’ll never live it down if my squad finds out I’ve secretly been dating a Zoomie for the past year. And I’m sure Peeta would face similar ridicule for dating a Ground Pounder. Stupid fucking rivalries. They make no sense and I’ve never hated them more than in this moment. 

 

“Maybe in a minute,” I say, my voice all breathy. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do for awhile.”

 

When I reach for the gleaming silver buckle on his belt, though, he stops me. “Wait. I’m not sure I’ll be able to put this thing back on right without a mirror. But I think I know what you’ve got in mind. Let me.”

 

I’ve never been very good at saying ‘no’ to that smile, so I flop into the desk chair when he pushes me down and grip the armrests while he kisses me. I bite my lip and try not to gasp when he tugs my shirt free, sliding his warm palm over my belly to cup my breast over my sports bra, his thumb catching on my nipple and only making me writhe more beneath his touch.

 

He pulls at my pants and I lift my hips, caressing his cheeks as he slides them down around my thighs. Then he kneels and drapes my legs over his shoulders, trapping himself between my legs and I try not to whine loudly because my squad is still out there, but holy mother of pearl do I love having Peeta’s mouth on me like this. And he knows it.

 

“There’s no one here, Katniss,” he murmurs, nuzzling my thigh before kissing it and gazing up at me. “You don’t have to be quiet.”

 

“Audio on the security cameras?” I ask weakly and he shrugs.

 

“No idea. They’re all out in the halls anyways. Scream my name all you want. I’ll take the punishment for it,” he says with a grin before lowering his mouth to me.

 

“Oh,” I moan and then cut it off, biting my fist as Peeta licks me from one end to the next. It feels so good, so impossibly good. I clamp my legs around his ears and he mumbles something that’s lost in my folds. His hands grip my thighs and tug in an attempt to loosen them. But there’s another loud noise down the hall, so I keep them in place and buck my hips against his mouth. I am torn in two between losing myself in the feelings Peeta creates and paying attention to what’s happening down the hall, remaining alert like I should.

“You’re making me work for it tonight,” he says when my legs loosen slightly and he lifts his head just enough to grin at me before he dives back in. His tongue caresses deeper this time before he slides it back out and closes his lips around my clit to suck on it, and oh god, he knows I can’t take it when he flicks his tongue on me like that.

 

“Peeta,” I gasp, my legs trembling and heat skipping up and down my spine as my fingers claw through his short hair, scraping scalp and unable to get a good grip on him.

 

I give up on playing lookout for my team and arch painfully in the chair, my back cramping as my legs and hands keep him prisoner against me and sweet relief flows through me. I choke back the moan desperate to fly free of my throat and somehow remain silent as Peeta keeps going, coaxing me through a drawn out release and then back down through shuddering aftershocks. 

 

He turns his head just enough to kiss my thigh again as I slump in the chair and absently pet his hair. With a chuckle, he frees himself of my legs and helps me stand, tugging my pants back up my waist before he gathers me in his arms and kisses me again. Slow and deep, full of promise. 

 

When he lifts his head to smile down at me, though, something pings against the window. My signal that they're done.

 

“What the--” 

 

As Peeta turns away from me towards the sound, I grab the chair and shove it into the backs of his knees, knocking him off his feet. He falls heavily back into it and I yank the zip cuffs from my pocket. Peeta stares up at me in astonishment as I bind his wrists together. 

 

“Really?” he asks incredulously. I tug his ankles together and he doesn’t fight me as I bind those too. When I look guiltily back up at him, he's not angry. He's laughing.

 

“I'm sorry, Peeta. You didn't leave me a choice. You should've just stayed in bed,” I snap. He shrugs and wriggles his fingers at me.

 

“Worth it,” he murmurs and warmth flows through me that he’s being so understanding. “So now what? You finish me off? Plaster a picture of me trussed up like a hog all over both our detachments?”

 

“No, nothing like that,” I say and lean over to kiss him one last time. Small consolation for the fact that even without photographic evidence, his entire cadet corps will probably figure out that he got nabbed and tied up by the Army cadets. But I need him to know that his humiliation was never my objective.

 

I tuck my shirt back in my pants and run my hands over my hair. “I'll see you later?”

 

“See you later,” he says way too cheerfully for someone who just got beat. I stare at him a moment but his calm face reveals nothing. So I slip warily back down the hallway, pausing to check my squad’s handiwork and chuckling at the pool table attached to the ceiling. They’ve propped it up with a couple two-by-fours, I’m guessing to make sure the epoxy has time to cure. It oughta be interesting seeing them get  _ that _ down. I just hope Gale remembered to take the pictures for proof.

 

I slink back out the door and around the corner, pausing near the bushes to chirp like a cricket, our signal in case of separation. A soft  _ fwump  _ greets me and then I cry out as something smacks into my chest, causing a burst of pain. When I glance down, I stare at the fluorescent orange paint splattered on my shirt. 

 

My ears ring with resounding cheers from the bushes. A flashlight glows on five figures, kneeling in a circle beneath the trees, their hands on their heads, all of them with paint splatters on their shirts, nearly identical to mine. I find Gale, looking pissed as hell, duct tape over his mouth. A ring of cadets in dark pants and black shirts, Air Force wings screen printed in blue on their backs, guards them, lifting paint ball guns in the air as they whoop in glee.

 

Crossing my arms, I glare at the nearest one as he emerges from the shadows. A tall, athletic, copper haired pretty boy who I'd really love to smack the saunter out of right now.

 

“Odair,” I drawl his name and he bows to me. 

 

“Everdeen. Surrender?”

 

“I don’t think so,” I say with a shake of my head. “Your pool table’s hanging from your ceiling. Oh and you might wanna go check on your vice. He got a little tied up in there.”

 

“Shall we call it a draw then?” Finnick offers and I nod. It’s probably the best I can hope for, to at least save some face with my corps. We shake on it and Finnick motions towards my squad. A few cadets start to remove the tape. “Mason, go untie Mellark, would you?” 

 

Then he turns back to me with a gleam in his eye. “I hope you weren't too rough on our live bait. Although it was mostly his idea.” 

 

He grins at me as I bristle at his words, which suggest that Peeta knew the whole time what was going on and even had a hand in planning this little ambush. Which means I wasn't the only one lying and playing the game. Guilt flees and anger takes it place. And I am so glad that I still have several of Holmes’ zip cuffs in my pockets, because I plan on using them to teach the live bait a lesson later on today.


	2. The Retaliation

I’ve been on edge almost all day. Waiting for her to pounce. 

 

It doesn’t help that I’ve been awake for twenty-two hours and only got about three hours of sleep before that. I’m just so tired and every corner I’ve turned today has been a moment of anxiety, waiting for gray eyes flashing in anger. 

 

I jump when a stray cat darts out from the bushes next to my apartment building and then order my pulse to slow down. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I haven’t seen her or talked to her since she left me tied up and hard as fuck for her, the taste of her still lingering on my tongue. By the time Mason was done cutting my bonds and giving me shit, Katniss and her squad had already left, probably to report back on their pseudo-success. I was left to trudge through my day, waiting, wondering what she was thinking and feeling.

 

At first, I wasn’t worried. I’d thought we were flirting, pushing each other to see just how far we’d go to get what we wanted. I expected her to stop us at every turn, but she didn't, and those thirty minutes or so that we’d spent in my office had felt so...exhilarating, sexy. Even if we’d caught her squad, they still managed to complete their prank. And she’d easily gotten the upper hand on me, even when I knew what she was up to.

 

When my text messages to her went unanswered, though, I slowly came to realize how wrong I was. During my last class of the day, I began to accept that I had really fucked it up and started working on a suitable apology. It didn’t help that Finnick kept ribbing me all through our shared classes, despite my insistence to him that Katniss and I aren't more than friends. 

 

She wanted to keep things low key. Just for us, but we've ruined that in spectacular fashion. I've ruined it. I didn’t meant to. Now, everyone seems to think they know, or always knew, what Katniss and I are to each other. I thought I knew, but I’m not so sure after what happened this morning.

 

Around dinner time, I stopped by all her usual places, since she hadn’t answered my calls either. But to no avail. I couldn’t apologize to her if she wouldn’t even see me. So I changed into jeans and a t-shirt, something more comfortable than my uniform, and hid myself in the library to work on my psyc paper. I really wasn’t lying to her about that, and I still have every intention of finishing it early, even if I spend my weekend groveling to her instead of taking her out to the lake for a relaxing weekend away from campus like I’d originally planned.

 

Now, it’s close to midnight, and still no word from her, although my paper is drafted at least. I’m not looking forward to a night spent alone. Even though she still doesn’t want to advertise our relationship, I’ve gotten used to sleeping beside her every night. Holding her in the dark. Because I’m beyond a goner for Katniss, and I'm not sure I can survive losing her.

 

“Fuck,” I mutter as I smack my forehead into my apartment’s front door frame. I didn’t think she’d take it this hard. But the longer the silence has stretched between us today, the more I’m convinced that I’ve finally messed up enough to lose her.

 

I let my arm go limp, keys dangling from my fingertips as I torture myself with the memory of her legs wrapped around my head, so tight that I could feel every spasm as she came on my tongue, but also so tight that I couldn’t hear a thing. I knew she did that on purpose, but it didn’t stop me from being turned on by it. By the thrill of playing that game with her. Of getting her to shatter when she knew she shouldn’t and was trying so hard not to. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hates me now.

 

Standing out here won’t fix anything, though, so I force myself to unlock my door and enter my pitch dark apartment. I flip the light switch and curse when nothing happens. Just one more thing to add to my list of why this day fucking sucks. I lock my front door and drop my book bag, pull my phone from my pocket to use the flashlight on it. 

 

The light in the kitchen is blown, too, and I stand perfectly still, waiting for a sound or a noise. Pushing down the hope in my chest that this is her vengeance. An attack in my apartment in the dark? I can deal with that. It means I’ve got a chance to talk to her before she decides to publicly skewer me.

 

A creak in the bedroom draws me in there and I sweep the space with the flashlight to provide more illumination than what the street lamp outside provides. The lights in my bedroom don’t work either. Damn, she’s not playing around tonight. Only, there’s nothing. Katniss isn’t in here. I can feel my shoulders sagging with the realization.

 

I’ve just decided that she must have removed all my bulbs as the opening move of her retaliation and that I’m alone, turning to return to the kitchen and see if I’ve got any extra bulbs under the sink, when my bedroom door slams shut and I jump back, dropping my phone as she stalks towards me, still dressed in her camo pants and black shirt that make her almost one with the shadows.

 

“You,” she says, jabbing a finger in my chest. I hold my hands up in surrender and back away from her.

 

“Katniss, I--”

 

“Shut up. You don’t talk unless I ask a question,” she snarls and I guess I deserve it, so I clamp my mouth shut. My feet tangle in something on the floor and I go down hard, wincing at the blow to my pride and my backside as Katniss bends over me. I am so focused on the pain in my tailbone and trying to figure out what it is that I tripped over that my mind doesn’t register her moving my arms until the distinct  _ zip-click _ noise fills my bedroom.

 

I look up at her in astonishment and try to tug my arms down from over my head. No give. She’s chained me to the leg of my own bed. 

 

“Are you kidding me right now?” I say as she stands up with a smirk and crosses her arms over her chest. That’s twice in one damn day.

 

“Do I need to put tape over that pretty mouth, too?” she asks, and while part of me wakes right the fuck up at that idea, there’s just enough bite in her voice to tell me she doesn’t mean it as some kind of pleasant game.

 

“You think my mouth is pretty?” I stupidly ask instead.

 

“Shut it, Mellark.” I snap my mouth closed again and press my lips together.

 

“You caused me a lot of trouble today, you know that?” I nod and try to look contrite. Her scowl deepens and she sets one booted foot on my chest but doesn’t push down on me. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

“I didn’t know for sure it’d be your squad,” I blurt out and she lifts an eyebrow at me, telling me that she’s not convinced. “Look, there’s always at least one prank you guys pull on us around this time of year and Finnick and I have been trying to figure out how to prevent it or get you back for it this time. Then you started acting all weird and jumpy around me this week. I figured you might at least know what the plan was, even if you weren’t involved. When you told me you had a drill from two to four in the morning, I took a gamble that that must be it.”

 

“You could’ve asked me, rather than playing games, Peeta,” she says.

 

“Would you have told me?” I ask and can’t help the grin that lifts my lips, because I already know the answer.

 

“That’s beside the point!” she insists and presses her boot down on my sternum, although not enough to hurt. 

 

“You’re right. I still would’ve figured it out. You’re not a very good liar, Katniss,” I say and enjoy the flush that blooms across her cheeks and the challenge that blazes to life in her eyes.

 

“And yet, you’re the one who keeps getting tied up,” she says and I flounder for a response. She preens a little when she realizes I don’t have much.

 

“Just a second, let me think,” I say and tug on the cuffs. How do I tell her that she keeps getting the best of me because I don’t guard myself against her?

 

“Something wrong, Peeta?” she coos and my pulse trips at her sensual tone. “Cat got your tongue?”

 

“I wish,” I say with a smile and her smirk falters. “So am I forgiven?”

 

“I was embarrassed today, Peeta” she says, her voice breaking a little and I hate myself enough in that moment for the both of us. “We had to report a failure and now I have to pick, plan, organize, and lead another raid.”

 

“It’s not required for graduation,” I remind her. “They can’t  _ make _ you do that.”

 

“No, but it’s a tradition, Peeta. I lost a lot of respect today because of this.” She drops her boot to the floor and to my astonishment, she lays down on top of me, curls up on my chest, gripping my shirt in her hands and sniffling slightly.

 

“Hey,” I try to soothe her, difficult with my hands restrained, but I manage a kiss on the top of her head. I don’t know how to fix this mess, how to balance our loyalties to each other and to our respective corps. “Will it help if you take pictures of this? I mean, getting the jump on the Vice Wing Commander twice in one day’s gotta count for something, right? Maybe draw an army star on my face before you do it. In permanent marker.”

 

Her shoulders shake a little, but she doesn’t move to document my captivity. I lick my lips and swallow the pain balling up in my throat. Eventually, Katniss sets her chin on my chest and looks up at me, her gaze softer this time.

 

“They lectured me on breaches in security. Like the fact that I can't lie to my boyfriend means that I’d spill national secrets to a spy or something,” she murmurs.

 

“That’s a bit of an overreaction,” I say and she sighs.

 

“Yeah, but it’s the way they think. To them, I’m now just a silly school girl with a crush.”

 

I feel her words like a stab in the heart. We’re supposed to be on the same side, but these ridiculous inter-service rivalries make me a threat to her. To her success. And I hate myself for proving them and their backwards ideas true.

 

“Katniss, I’m so sorry,” I whisper. She looks down at my chest and traces her short nails over the writing on my shirt.

 

“At first, I thought they knew about us and maybe rigged the drawing as punishment,” she says and I swallow heavily. “But now it’s so much worse. My whole squad is paying the price. Gale won’t even speak to me.”

 

And I thought I couldn’t hate myself any more. I’ve managed to embarrass her and destroy her relationship with her squad and her best friend. Okay, maybe there’s a tiny part of me that’s not as upset about that last one as I should be. The piece of me that’s always been a little jealous that she’s so open about her friendship with Gale when she’s oblivious to how he looks at her. Like they’re inevitable and he doesn't even have to try. But she won’t so much as hold my hand in public. Not even when we’re both out of uniform.

 

“He’ll forgive you, especially if your next raid is a success. He cares about you too much,” I try to soothe. She looks completely unconvinced, and I know I have to give her the out she needs. As much as it will pain me to do it.

 

“Maybe we should, I don’t know... If you want t-to take a break...or e-end th-things,” my voice is shaking pathetically and the words nearly choke the life from me, but I shove them out anyways, “I’ll understand.”

 

And all I can do is chant in my head.

 

Please say that’s not what you want. Please say _THAT’S_ not what you want. Please say that’s _NOT_ what you want. _PLEASE_ say that’s not what you want.

 

“It’d be easier,” she says and my heart breaks right then and there. The pain of her words blinding me to everything else. Even though I considered the possibility several times throughout the day, I never allowed myself to do more than think it in passing and then shove it away before it could destroy me.

 

“We’re graduating in a year, Peeta. Going into different branches with different bases and little chance of being assigned together.”

 

Unless we’re married. Even then, we’d maybe get one or two assignments together if we’re lucky, and there’s not even a guarantee of that.

 

But I can’t say any of that to her, because this is the first time she's even mentioned what happens after, and while my battered heart lurches at the knowledge that she's actually thinking about us in the long term...if she’s already thinking of dumping my ass over this, then mentioning marriage now would just be the nail in my coffin.

 

R.I.P. Peeta Mellark. He opened his mouth too wide and choked on wanting too much.

 

“We can find a way to make it work,” I hear myself say, and the words sound useless even to me. A hundred million pleas sit on the tip of my tongue, all the things that won’t mean a damn without her, all the ways I want to fight for us, but I can’t stop my brain from jumbling them all together and she doesn’t need me to be a pathetic mess right now so I choke them back.

 

“Peeta,” she says and it already sounds like ‘good-bye.’

 

I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists, feeling the bite of the plastic cuffs into my wrists and hoping the physical pain will keep me grounded through the pain of her leaving.

 

“Just...do it fast, okay?” I whisper, hoping it'll be like ripping off a band aid and knowing it won't. “You don’t even have to say anything. Just...go.”

 

“That’s the problem,” she whispers back. “I can’t.”

 

My brain barely has time to register her words before her lips crash into mine and my eyes fly back open to watch her kiss me.  _ She’s kissing me?! _

 

I’m confused. But her eyes are closed and her fists are pulling on my shirt and her lips move over mine with firm determination. I try to talk, to ask what she meant, but her tongue takes my open mouth as an invite. I give up on talking as light sparks inside me, warming as it spreads from my chest outward. And I kiss her back, as best I can without touching her.

 

She moans in my mouth and shifts her body so she’s cradling my jaw in her hands and rocking her hips over mine, her knees pressing into my sides so her legs almost embrace me. My mind goes all hazy when she grinds her hips down, pressing my zipper onto my cock. I’m already half hard and if she keeps this up, I’ll be desperate in about two seconds flat.

 

I yank my arms down in an attempt to break the thick plastic ties binding me, but nothing gives. All I manage to do is drag my bed across the floor and hurt my wrists. Katniss sits up and smiles down at me, her hands slowly skimming down my chest then back up, over my shoulders and up the length of my arms towards the cuffs as she lowers herself back over me.

 

“Do you want something?” she asks in a sing song voice that tells me I won’t be getting what I want.

 

“Can we take these off now?” I ask anyways and tug on the cuffs again. She stretches out over me, her hands caressing over my skin, just below the cuffs, but just when I think she’s going to free me and let me touch her, she pulls back slightly and shakes her head. A desperate whine escapes my throat as I squirm beneath her, my hands flexing with the need to feel her.

 

“Who can’t lie, Peeta?” she asks, and fuck me if I don’t get harder at her taunt. I groan as she bites my earlobe and pushes down into me with her hips. Again and again. “I'm still upset with you.” 

 

Her motions and her whispers in my ear feel so damn good, they distract me from trying to get free. Instead, I brace my feet on the floor and thrust up into her. It’s her turn to gasp and I bite back a smile as her nails dig into my forearms. My jeans are too tight, tighter with each press of our bodies together and the resulting burst of pleasure that burns through me.

 

Without warning, she stops and I whimper, fucking whimper like a dog denied a biscuit. But she moves down my body and her hands yank violently at my belt, the button and zipper on my jeans. She grabs fistfuls of denim and pulls, taking my shorts too. I lift my hips to help, sighing in relief when my dick is free of the restriction, but she’s moving so fast that I lose my footing and fall back to the floor with my jeans and my shorts halfway down my legs.

 

She growls in frustration and moves again, tugging my shoes off before throwing them across the room and then tearing my clothes the rest of the way off. She moves around the bed and I listen to her pull the nightstand drawer open. She doesn’t bother closing it, but returns with the short strip of condoms I have left, dropping them on the floor next to me and standing over me, one foot on either side of my hips.

 

“Don’t I get a cuddle or something first?” I tease and she scowls at me. But I think maybe I understand now. She's had a rough day, faced failure and ridicule, and now she wants to feel like she can control  _ SOMETHING _ , even if that something is us.

 

Katniss whips her shirt and sports bra off over her head and drops them to the floor before placing one booted foot on my chest. My palms ache for the weight of her breasts, my thumbs for the pebbled nipples already taut with desire.

 

“Unlace me, Mellark,” she orders.

 

“Can’t,” I remind her, jerking my wrists to prove it to her. Undeterred, she moves to set her boot next to my bound hands.

 

“Unlace me,” she repeats. Somehow, I manage to shift my wrists up the leg I’m attached to and blindly unlace first one boot and then the other. She sits on the corner of the bed, legs splayed on either side of me to finish removing them herself. They drop to the floor with resounding thuds. When she stands, she turns to face the bed and shoves her pants down her legs. I groan in agony at the view of her black boy shorts right above me and the damp patch between her legs. I am dizzy with the need to touch her and taste her, and I try once more to break free as she looks down at me with a sly smile.

 

“Katniss, please,” I beg. She tucks her thumbs into the waist of her panties and shimmies, slowly lowering them until they land on my face. She steps out of them and kicks them aside. I blink as she sits on my mouth.

 

“Fuck,” I say, but the word is garbled.

 

“What was that, Peeta?” she asks coyly, my name a squeak as I tilt my chin and suck on her lips. I fucking love eating her out. All the breathy little sounds she makes, the way she swivels her hips to get my tongue right where she wants it. Her taste like nectar, her scent a perfume. I could do this all day and die happy.

 

This is the first time she’s sat on my face and my hands are tied...literally. So I can’t guide her hips and she bumps into my nose and drops too low once or twice. She’s still enjoying it, though. Panting my name here and there in a beautiful song. Her legs shaking. Before I can get her close, she tears herself away from me.

 

I’m recovering from the sudden change and hardly notice her rip open a condom until her hand grips me and I buck into her touch. Before I can ask her to slow down a little, she’s got it on me and she’s lowering herself onto my cock.

 

“Oh fuck, Katniss!” I say as my spine bends and my head drags on the floor, my wrists aching as I strain against the cuffs and my cock throbs eagerly inside her wet heat. I don’t even try to control the sounds I make when her hands push my shirt up enough for her nails to burrow in my skin, hands clenched on my abs as she rolls her hips over me. But I want to watch and force myself to at least lay flat again so I can see her.

 

Eyes closed, braid swaying over her chest with her movements, arms straight and strong, holding me to the floor, mouth parted, tongue and teeth glistening, cheeks flushed. Radiant. Powerful, if a little vulnerable. Gorgeous.

 

As she speeds up, I once more bend my knees and brace my feet on the floor to rock myself up into her. Her hands move up to my chest as she groans my name and her walls squeeze once. I bite my lip, concentrating on keeping the pace as her eyes flutter open and her gaze locks with mine. Fire tickles down my spine and I try to stave it off by talking.

 

“Katniss, fucking take it from me. You know you want it. Your pussy wants it so fucking bad. You can’t lie to me. I can  _ feel  _ it. Feel you squeezing me. Right there?”

 

She keens wordlessly at the slight shift in angle, and the sounds alone are enough to get me right to the edge. Her hips thrash and I bite my lip hard as she comes all around me, her walls clenching and her juices coating me. She remains rigid above me as she rides it to the end and then her elbows buckle and I grunt as her weight lands squarely on my chest.

 

Her fingers trace over my shirt and her hot breath paints over my neck, tickling and arousing me further. With a deep sigh, she slides her hands up my arms and fiddles with something. There’s a slight release of pressure and she holds up a carabiner for me to see before tossing it aside. My wrists are still bound, but I’m no longer attached to the bed.

 

I bring my arms down to trap her to me and shove one foot against the floor to flip us over. Katniss gasps, wrapping her arms and legs around me, clinging to me as I twist my hands enough to get my palms flat on the floor. It’s fucking uncomfortable with her weight pressing down on my wrists and the cuffs, and my arms bent at this angle, but the pain is not as bad as the desire to plunge into her until I come.

 

She smiles and tilts her head back as I try to move, exposing her throat to me. I lick up the column of smooth skin, tasting the salt of her sweat and the musk that’s all Katniss. When I reach her chin, she rolls her head up and holds my face close to hers, so our noses and foreheads brush and her breaths float warm and inviting over my lips while we stare at one another. Then her heels dig into my ass, and I lose it. I buck like a fucking madman and can’t seem to stop. It’s fast and harsh and all too soon the fire races back through me, leaving my skull buzzing and my body flaming as I shout and slam into her before my body is seized in release, going rigid and still as it rocks through me. The cuffs finally snap as I stop coming and my arms give out.

 

I barely manage to catch myself before I crush her, my face pressed into the floor as I gasp and blink and try to figure out which way is up. It’s her fingers, tenderly caressing my neck and shoulders that guide me back to reality. Her legs still wrapped around me tightly, holding us together.

 

When I can breathe normally again, I gather her in my arms and move us onto the bed, discarding the condom and the broken cuffs, and removing my shirt before I join her beneath the covers.

 

“I still can't believe you went down on me with my whole squad down the hallway.”

 

I laugh and wrap my arms around her, relieved when she curls into me the way she always does.

 

“May I remind you that you kissed me, and you're the one who went for my belt first?”

 

“You may not.”

 

“I would've stopped if you'd told me to,” I whisper. “I still can't believe you let me go that far with your whole squad down the hallway.”

 

I grin and trail my fingers over her hair. She yawns and presses a handful of soft kisses to my chest, sending up a wave of fluttering from my middle. When I turn to kiss her cheek, though, she stiffens in my embrace.

 

“The navy,” she whispers.

 

“What are you talking about?” I ask and manage to lift my head to look down at her. She’s wide eyed and flushed, her gaze is excited and eager.

 

“That’s my target. The Navy midshipmen,” she explains. Then she bites her lip and lifts an eyebrow. “Since you kind of owe me, Zoomie, you think you might be willing to spare a few cadets to help out and earn some bragging rights?”

 

“I might be able to help. We've always talked about turning that gigantic, tacky as fuck brass anchor in their entry way into a clothes line. Put a sign on it that says ‘Salute Your Shorts,’” I tell her and she wriggles with glee.

 

“I knew there was a reason I put up with you,” she teases and I laugh, just happy that she’s not angry and leaving.

 

“Anytime you need to loosen an idea from your mind, I’m more than willing to put my body at your service. And I’d like to remind you that we in the Air Force pride ourselves on Service Before Self,” I tease right back and nibble on her neck until she’s squealing in laughter and clawing at my shoulders. I fling the sheets up in the air and crawl beneath them. “It's a dangerous task, but I am completely willing to sacrifice myself to get it done right.”

 

Her laughter stops when I settle in the cradle of her legs and tilt her hips to taste her again. There will be other obstacles to face in the future. The most glaring one is what we’ll do after graduation. But for now, I just want to focus on helping her regain that respect I cost her. To spend every possible minute with her that she’ll allow me.


	3. The Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a significant time jump to get to this chapter. Mainly because I'd planned on stopping it at chapter 2. Unfortunately, my mind wouldn't leave me alone with wondering what would happen to this version of Everlark after they graduated and entered the military. After I wrote this chapter, I hadn't planned on sharing it, but a friend of mine who was also running a blog on tumblr to provide others with fanfic gifts asked me to let them use it since it was a continuation of a story already gifted through their blog and it conveniently fit one of the requests they had to fill. Which is a really long winded way of my asking you all to read with a kind heart and maybe a willingness to suffer through some angst while also forgiving the huge gap of missing years in this story. I don't plan on expanding this one, but I am more than willing to discuss it or answer your questions. Thank you all and hugs!

**_A/N:_ ** _ HR in this instance stands for Human Remains. There’s no gore or graphic violence in this, but there is a healthy dose of angst leading into a mostly happy resolution.  
_

 

************************

 

My boots scrape the pavement as I stop to stare up and down the parking lot aisles. I find at least four Jeep-shaped vehicles under black covers and sigh, drop my bag on the pavement, and search through the pockets for my keys. Not even my car keys, either. Customs fucked up my packing job and I’m pretty sure they wound up back in my footlocker. I find the keys I need underneath a half empty bottle of Gatorade and unlock my trunk, rummaging around until my fingers find the canvas ribbon on my at home keychain. Yanking them out, I listen to the jingle of home with the distant growl of a C-130 spooling up its engines. The humid North Carolina air presses down on my lungs and I blink in the fading light.

 

It’s late. I’m exhausted and hungry. And the red  _ REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT  _ tag on my keys is a one-two punch to the face. I don’t even know where he is right now. He was supposed to be home sometime last week, although I don’t know the exact date, but the fact that he wasn’t here to meet me means he was delayed somewhere. Or something far worse that I am not prepared to contemplate on four hours of shitty sleep on a cramped rotator flight and an empty stomach.

 

Pocketing my car keys, I slam my footlocker shut and lock it back up, hefting my bag back on my shoulder and hauling the trunk onto its wheels to continue my solitary trek. I hit the lock button on the key fob twice and hope my battery didn’t die while I’ve been gone. I’ve got jumpers, but no one I feel comfortable inconveniencing. Most of the others have already gone home. Prim couldn’t be here this time, unable to get away from med school. Mom’s too sick to travel. Gale’s still somewhere in Fallujah, I think. At least, that’s the last place I ran into him.

 

Finally, my car honks back at me and I trudge three aisles over towards the sound. Think it’s rough remembering where you parked your car after a thirty minute trip into a grocery store? Try remembering where the fuck you parked it in a long term lot after a year long deployment. I drop everything when I reach my Jeep. Unceremonious and messy. Fuck the Army and it’s obsession with order.

 

It takes me a few tries to get the cover off my car and folded up enough to shove it in the back. My footlocker and duffle go in next. The pack goes on the front seat since it contains my wallet, such as it is. I climb into the driver’s seat and roll back enough of the canvas so that I’ll be able to feel the breeze. Keys in the ignition and I freeze, once more staring at the bright red tag. 

 

Peeta gave it to me right before my first deployment, in a black velvet box that looked like it contained a fancy necklace. Which it did. A single, luminescent pearl on a silver chain nestled underneath a layer of padding, but on top had been this keychain. I’d laughed nervously and shoved his face away from me when I saw the tag, but then he’d shown me what he’d bought for himself...a red, white, and blue double A keychain. The emblem of the 82nd Airborne. My unit. They were meant to be a symbol. When we saw the keychains that ought to belong to each other, then we’d know we were home.

 

The C-130 must be warmed up because the tone of it changes, softens as it faces a different direction. Turning up the taxiway, preparing for takeoff. I wonder what they’re doing tonight. Dropping bundles? Cargo? Jumpers? Or maybe they’re just making proficiency runs. Either way, I know Peeta’s not with them.

 

“Come on baby, don’t let me down,” I mutter and crank the engine. She starts rough but she does turn over. I throw my cover onto the passenger side floorboard, needing to feel the wind in my cropped short hair after months of it being stifled beneath a kevlar helmet.

 

As I leave the lot, I make a last minute decision, turning towards the airfield instead of the main gate. I just want to be sure. I’d call, but my phone’s buried in the back and I didn’t think to pull it out while I was searching for my keys. And maybe I’m not ready to face the silence of an empty house.

 

The drive is refreshing, but when I reach the airlift wing’s long term parking lot, I realize what a mistake this was. Theirs is almost as full as ours. I drive up one aisle and down the next, slowing every time I see anything that might be silver. I find it in the fourth aisle. Peeta’s dark silver Mustang, parked next to a black Silverado, a layer of pollen coating it, obscuring the color. I grip my steering wheel and stare at the car for a moment. Then I force myself to leave.

 

I’ll be going home to an empty house.

 

The lights in town feel blindingly bright. Foreign after a year in the desert. When I tip my head back, I can barely make out a handful of stars as they emerge into the night sky. At a red light, a group of teens in a Tahoe with all the windows down stops next to me, laughing and singing along with their music. Once more, I’m massaging my steering wheel and trying to find my place in this world. It’s familiar and still disturbing. The lights and the colors too bright, the sounds too much like a dull roar, a pounding in the skull.

 

It’s when I pass a McDonald’s and my stomach growls painfully that I realize I’ll be going home to an empty pantry, too. There might be a can of soup or something, but nothing fresh. No one’s lived in that house for six months and I didn’t think to ask Eddy, our neighbor’s kid, to stock the pantry for us. He was just keeping an eye on the place, maintaining the yard, and bringing in any mail. It’ll all be junk, but it’s better than leaving it to piss off the mail carrier. 

 

With a sigh, I pull into a grocery store that looks new, hoping they have a deli still open so I can get something already cooked and warm. I make it quick, though I do spend a few minutes debating between macaroni or potato salad to go with my rotisserie chicken. Choices...something else that feels incongruously familiar. They’ve got a bakery, too, and I add a loaf to my basket for dinner, and a couple bagels so I’ve at least got something to eat for breakfast, not caring that they’ll be a little stale. I’ve eaten worse. I’ll come back tomorrow for a real grocery shopping trip.

 

I use the self checkout lane, though, because the last thing I want right now is attention called to me in the form of a chatty cashier or someone wanting to thank me for my service. Most of them mean well, but sometimes it’s hard to know what to say in response. ‘ _ You’re welcome?’  _ Arrogant. ‘ _ Thank you?’ _ For what exactly? Thanking me first? ‘ _ Just glad to serve my country?’ _ Yeah, tell that to Darius and his family… I shake myself and gather my groceries before rushing out of the store.

 

Once I’m safely back in my Jeep with no unnecessary human interactions, I breathe easier. She starts up like a dream this time and I drive home, only freaking out at one plastic bag as the wind makes it drift across my path. Pretty good, considering.

 

“Here goes nothing,” I say and reach up to press the button to my garage door opener. Nothing. Car battery lasted. Remote battery did not. Time for the car and door dance. By the time I get my Jeep in the garage, I add grouchy to my list of feelings. My pack goes inside with me and my food. The rest can wait.

 

The house is dark and smells musty. I open a few windows to air it out, humidity be damned, and flip on a couple lights so it’s not as depressing. Then I eat -- with a real fork, off a plate that I’ll have to wash -- in about four minutes. Which is savoring my meal, by the way.

 

Once I’ve placed my leftovers in the fridge, I get the rest of my shit inside and in the bedroom, glaring at the neatly made bed. Starting the shower, I toss crap from my trunk until I find my phone and plug it in. Then I wait for the thing to turn back on and for the water to warm up. I’ve got one voicemail from Prim. I’ll call her after my shower.

 

I leave my cams on the floor in a pile. I’ll shove all of it in the washing machine later. The good thing about shampoo and soap is that they don’t go bad, although there’s a strange crust around the caps. I wash quickly, watching the murky water drain away sand and three days worth of funk layered over remnants from months of half-assed showers. Normally, I’d be in a rush. Limited water and somewhere to be in five minutes means that when we got them, showers weren’t luxurious or even very efficient. They were just fast.

 

Standing under the clear, steaming stream, I try to relax. To enjoy the luxury. But I can only manage a few extra minutes before I start to feel ansty and get out. It’s silly, but once I dry off and am standing in my underwear, staring at my drawer full of pajamas, I hesitate. Instead, I yank open one of Peeta’s drawers, finger the neatly folded cotton shirts before finally dragging one over my body. The shirt smells stale as well, from it’s months untouched in storage, but as long as I don’t inhale too deeply, I can sort of pretend that it’s his arms holding me. I comb through my hair and settle on the bed to call Prim.

 

“Hey! Welcome home!”

 

“Hi, Prim,” I say and smile for the first time since stepping off the plane.

 

“Oh my gosh! I can actually hear you! No static!”

 

“Just one of the many perks of being stateside,” I say and look around the room. Prim prattles on for several minutes about school and how excited she is to see me in a few days. I try to remain cheerful, but it’s not easy. All I can think about is how her life continued uninterrupted while I dodged bullets, sent a friend home in a casket, and came home to a stale house.

 

“You okay?” Prim asks, cutting into my thoughts.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Why?”

 

“I asked if you’d be bringing Peeta when you come home in a few days and you didn’t answer.”

 

“Sorry, Duck,” I say. “I spaced out. It was kind of a long flight home.”

 

“I’ll bet,” she says then waits for my answer.

 

“I don’t know. He was supposed to be back last week, but he’s not, so…”

 

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Prim says and goes on to suggest that he can always catch up to us after he gets back, but her words open the gates of fears and worries that I’ve kept carefully under lock and key. 

 

I maneuver awkwardly through the rest of our conversation until I remind her how tired I am. When we hang up, I sit rigid and at war with myself. And even though I already know what's going to happen, I press Peeta's name and hold the phone to my ear.

 

Straight to his voicemail, but I listen anyways. Just to hear his voice for a few seconds, something I haven't heard in six months. I disconnect before the beep and power my phone down then toss it on the nightstand to charge the rest of the way, wondering if he ever called my phone during those six months he was here and I was not, just to hear my voice. I hug a pillow to my chest before laying down. I squeeze my eyes shut and order my body to sleep, but as exhausted as I am, I can’t seem to relax. The sheets carry a musty smell of their own that makes my nose wrinkle, and they feel cold.

 

Four months. I haven’t seen him in four months, and even then, it was thirty seconds from a distance and a twist of luck. On a tarmac in Baghdad while we were piling into the back of one plane, he was pre-flighting another. At least, I think it was him. We didn’t get a chance to talk. And I’m not even sure he saw me or knew I was there. Since his deployment was six months versus my year, we kept in touch better while he was stateside. Skype and e-mail, when I was lucky to stop at a base with internet. The occasional letter or phone call. But once he was in the desert too, all but the emails stopped. We just kept missing each other and it was more frustrating than anything else.

 

With a low growl, I shove myself off the bed, dragging the spring green duvet into the living room with me. I plop on the couch and turn on the TV, hoping it will numb me into slumber.

 

It doesn’t.

 

News channels covering events I know little about, since I was isolated from current events at home for a year other than the tidbits Mom, and Prim, and Peeta while he could, would send to me in their letters. When I stumble across war coverage on one channel, I pause, but quickly move on. I live it. I don’t need them telling me what it’s like. Besides, there’s a small part of me that’s terrified that the next breaking story will be about a plane crash.

 

The rest of the channels disappoint just as much. Petty squabbles on reality shows. Commercials and other fluff. It’s just like talking to Prim only magnified. This used to be my life, I think as I turn the TV back off and wander into the kitchen. I eat one of the bagels I’d meant for breakfast just to have something normal to do. 

 

When I finally shove myself back into bed, it’s with little hope of sleeping. Still, I try, and I must succeed because I see things, some of them real, others more difficult to pinpoint. Sergeant Chaff yelling over the pop of gunfire. A woman racing into the streets to enfold her child into the black billows of her dress before collapsing and crying over his body. Peeta’s smile. The ringing in my ears when a grenade went off close by, drowning out the shouts and gunfire that followed. A door kicked in beneath a tan boot. Darius laughing the second before the IED went off. A fireball and a tower of smoke against an azure sky, the twisted wreckage of a plane’s tail.

 

I gasp and wake up, sweating and trembling. Slowly, I manage to get ahold of my breathing and stand, walking slowly to the bathroom to splash water on my face in the dark. I gulp down a few handfuls and then return to bed, stripping the duvet off first and using only the sheet. Staring at the ceiling as I wait for morning or sleep, whichever arrives first. I can’t tell which one it is, drifting in and out of dreams. Even when I see my room, there’s Gale, detailing a strategy for clearing a street, his neck bandaged. My mother humming as she rocks in a rocking chair and sews. The constant, choking brown haze of a dust storm.

 

I am a stranger in my own life.

 

When I wake again, it’s late afternoon. At least, that’s what my clock says. The room is dark, the curtains drawn, so I’m not sure that I’m not still asleep. I roll onto my stomach and stare through scratchy eyes at what should be the empty space beside me. Only, there’s a body there, stomach down and faced away from me. My mouth goes dry and I hope it’s not a nightmare. I wouldn’t put it past my twisted brain to imagine him lying dead beside me in our bed.

 

Reaching out, I poke his ribs and he startles. It takes him a moment, but he finally turns his head to look at me, his eyes bloodshot and dark circles beneath them.

 

“You look a little rough for a dream,” I tell him and he blinks at me, confused. “And quiet, too. That’s how I know you’re not real. If you were, you’d have already said ten witty things.”

 

“Too tired,” he mumbles behind a yawn.

 

“You should've already been here,” I mutter, the fear of what could go wrong still clinging to me.

 

“Plane broke and we had to divert to Turkey. Then we got stuck waiting for parts. I called you as soon as we had a takeoff time from Canada, but your phone was off,” he says and I shrug.

 

“No one I wanted to talk to,” I tell him.

 

“Ouch,” he says and I scoot closer, hoping dream Peeta feels half as good as real Peeta. He opens his arms and I snuggle against his body. My subconscious has at least gotten the incredible warmth that he emits right.

 

“You smell good,” I murmur and fist his shirt in my hand.

 

“I better. I just got back two hours ago and took a shower first thing.”

 

“You got naked without me,” I accuse. “Who’s in charge of this dream anyways?”

 

“You were out cold when I got in. Didn't want to disturb you. How long have you been home?”

 

“No idea. Tell you when I wake up.”

 

“Katniss,” Peeta says softly. “You are awake.”

 

I open one eye and look up at Peeta. Reaching out, I pat his cheek and he smiles.

 

“You didn’t wake me!” I shout and scramble upright in the bed and put space between us. I’m not sure if I’m more angry over the fact that he climbed into bed without waking me or that by leaving my phone off, I missed the chance to be there for him when he landed. But he just lays there, watching me with tired blue eyes.

 

“I didn’t wake you,” he says softly, one hand reaching for me and falling short on the bed, “because you looked so peaceful and wonderful, and all I wanted to do was to sleep next to you for a few hours. Just sleep with the knowledge that I wouldn't be alerted soon, and without having to block out the sound of mortar shells.”

 

“How's that working out for you?” I ask, resenting the fact that he's the one who brought it up, reminded me that he wasn't all that much safer than I was over there. He shrugs.

 

“Not so well. It's so quiet here.”

 

“Yeah,” I say and fold my hands in my lap as we add to the silence. Staring at one another, neither one of us knowing what to say, and I wonder if I will feel like an interloper in this part of my life too, caught in a world I no longer understand. I search his blue eyes for some hint of the person I left a year ago. His eyes are the same color, but they're guarded. Maybe even frightened. And defensive. I don't know how to talk to this person.

 

“This is weird, isn't it?” I whisper. He braces a hand on the mattress and sits up so our eyes are on the same level, but he doesn't reach for me again.

 

“Feels that way, doesn't it?” he asks.

 

“Prim wanted to know if you’d be coming with me next week.”

 

“Yeah. If you want me too,” he says and I nod, because what am I supposed to say to this cautious dance around each other.

 

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

 

“I could eat,” he says. We make our way into the kitchen and eat the rest of my chicken, salad, and bread from dinner last night. In silence. And we don't touch one another.

 

I try to summon some sort of feeling. But I'm so tired of fighting and I know he must be too. Maybe it's too late for us.

 

Two years of visits here and there while he went through his training pipeline, existing on phone calls and quick weekends in which we tried to cram months worth of time missing each other. But there was always another absence looming on the horizon, and in those absences, it became necessary to survive alone. Without each other.

 

He fought to get an assignment that somewhat matched up with mine, requesting an airframe that others in his service often look down on, shocking his superiors when he wanted and pursued a heavy instead of a sleek shiny fighter. Requesting a base slated for closure just because it was attached to the fort I was assigned to. Fought to line up our deployments so we weren't waving at one another as we swapped places. And now, each of us two deployments in, I wonder if we spent so much time and effort trying to be together that we don't know how to exist together anymore.

 

He flicks crumbs across his plate as we sit in silence, his foot bouncing nervously beneath the table. It's a twitch he's never had before and I don't know what to think of it. Shouldn't we be happy? Crawling all over one another and ravenous?

 

Peeta takes a deep breath and I look up to find him already watching me. “Think I'll unpack...since I'm awake now.”

 

“Okay,” I say, pushing away the guilt that I woke him after so little sleep when I’ve wasted almost an entire day moping in bed.

 

We move around one another, returning personal items to their places, shoving one load after another into the washing machine, wiping away the fine layer of powdered sand that’s accumulated on almost everything. We barely speak, just two ghosts sharing a house. I'm not even sure I'd call it a home.

 

“Grocery shopping?” he suggests after we've stored our footlockers in the garage and I nod. I can't even look at him as we dress, afraid I'll find new scars or markings on his body that tell the tales of whatever horrors he lived through. And I don't feel his eyes on me either.

 

“Your car or mine?” he asks softly as he double knots his shoes. 

 

“Mine,” I say automatically, and he nods but still tucks his keys into his jeans pocket. I catch a brief glimpse of his airborne keychain, dulled a little but still attached to his house key. 

 

We limit our conversation to the necessary while we drive to the grocery store, and while we fill our cart. At one point, he rests a palm on the small of my back as he leans around me to grab a box of crackers while I read a label and try not to fall apart at the minute touch. The heat of his hand sears through my shirt, and I lean back into it. When he moves away, the disappointment rushes through me, swift and painful.

 

He tosses the box of crackers into the cart and looks back at me, a small and hesitant smile curving his lips up just on one side. And I can't take it anymore, pretending like everything's normal and fine and I’m not five seconds from falling apart. I drop the saltines on the ground and fling myself at him. 

 

He only hesitates a second before his arms surge around me and he buries his face in my neck, releasing a quiet shuddering noise that might be a sob or a sigh of relief. I still shake with fears and uncertainties, my fingers digging into the back of his neck to make sure he doesn't vanish from my arms. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips touch my neck. And I don't care that we're in the middle of a grocery store with a dozen people muttering in discontent as they have to maneuver their carts around us.

 

“What’s happening to us, Katniss?” he whispers, and I know he’s not talking about the nightmares or the shortened tempers, but the apathy. The need to not make a big deal out of things, not even a reunion after an entire year apart. Or the fact that it’s easier to ignore the possibility of hurt or death or worse because if you think about it, you’ll go mad. 

 

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

 

“I missed you so much it physically hurts,” he says, his arms shaking against me for a moment. I think about how many times these arms have been my refuge from the world. Always so warm and strong.

 

“Me, too,” I admit. But we’ve opened the floodgates and words pour forth from his lips.

 

“It was bad enough being here and watching the news. I’d go fucking crazy watching it, looking for you in the footage, hoping I’d get just a glimpse of you and dreading it at the same time. But being there was a million times worse. Every time we got called for medevac or to move H.R., I’d feel ill, certain that I’d be seeing your face or your name on a casket and knowing it’d be more than I could bear. Katniss, I don’t know if I’d ever be happy again if I lost you.”

 

My eyes burn with unshed tears. I should tell him about my nightmares, too. RPG’s and planes shot from the sky. The words stick in my throat, and then someone behind us clears theirs impatiently. I swipe at my eyes as Peeta releases me and we step apart enough to look at the intruder.

 

“Excuse me. You’re blocking the shelf,” she says, oblivious to or blatantly ignoring the obvious tears in both our eyes. A reminder that this is not the place for either of us to break down. Not with an audience. 

 

“Thank you for your patience,” Peeta says to her, bending to scoop the dropped box of crackers off the floor and depositing it in our cart as we walk away. Only this time, we join hands and each use one hand to steer the cart.

 

Our conversation is still somewhat stilted after that, and maybe it will be for awhile as we adjust back to each other’s presence, to the comfort of relative safety and the absence of the fears of the night.  

 

We pay for our groceries and I manage to get us home without incident. As I cut off the engine, Peeta reaches out a hand to squeeze my thigh and I look up at him while I press to shut the garage door, the remote now with a fresh battery. His thumb rubs up and down my thigh, a soothing touch along a rubbed raw nerve.

 

The air around us already hangs heavy with humidity, but under his steady gaze, it thickens until it’s almost stifling. He leans towards me and my grip on the steering wheel tightens. Peeta halts halfway between us, his eyes flickering down to my mouth and then away with a nearly inaudible sigh. For now, I will ignore the voice in the back of my head that insists there’s no point. One or both of us will just be heading back out the door in six to twelve months. A seesaw of adjustment to life and then survival. Or maybe they’re just two different kinds of survival. But I refuse to let this wall stand between us a second longer. 

 

With my hands firm on the steering wheel, I move to meet him over the gearshift and capture his lips with mine. His fingers on my thigh clench and he brings his other hand up to hold me to him, his palm warm on the side of my neck, his thumb tracing a path from the corner of my mouth to the edge of my jaw and back again. And I can't believe we waited this long. I let go of the steering wheel and grip his shirt instead, yanking roughly on the fabric, needlessly because he’s not pulling back or going anywhere. 

 

He tilts his head and I open my mouth without him asking, because I need this kiss right now. Right here. The soft tremor that shakes through me at the first touch of his tongue to mine. We are sloppy and graceless, but one kiss only makes me want more. All too soon, though, Peeta gently separates our mouths with one last suckle of my bottom lip between his. 

 

“We should get the cold items put away before they all melt,” he croaks and I nod, although I’d much rather kiss him for the next hour. Releasing my leg to open his door, Peeta kisses the tip of my nose and smiles at me. 

 

With each mundane task that we complete, the gaping wound between us knits together. A gradual healing. By the time we’ve finished putting our groceries away and managed to prepare and consume a meal like human beings, I’m thinking of tonight, about spooning with him in bed, less in terms of something we just do and more in terms of the comfort that it might provide.

 

When Peeta stifles a massive yawn, I suggest heading to bed, even though I’m not tired yet. He has to be beyond exhausted. Within seconds of crawling into bed, his breathing evens out and I lay in the circle of his arms, listening to the calm sounds of spring outside our open window. 

 

Eventually, sleep takes me as well, and while I still see things I’d rather not, they’re easier to face with Peeta’s arms warm and steady around me.

 

Some time during the night, I wake to darkness and feather soft touches drifting up and down my side, beneath my shirt, around to my belly and up my ribs, back down and around to my side. Over my hip, the touches dulled through the fabric of my shorts, igniting on my thighs before he returns to my torso. For a second, I wonder if he’s even awake, but then his lips brush over my neck and I shiver. Peeta’s touches halt and I bite my lip, wanting him to continue.

 

“Why’d you stop?” I finally whisper.

 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers back.

 

“I don’t mind,” I say and rest my hand over his, guiding it in the soft caresses for a moment before I tuck my hands beneath my cheek and relax into his touch as he continues unguided. Each delicate brush of his fingers lulls me deeper into a boneless state of bliss, reminding me of just how starved I’ve been for something like this, for the softness of his loving touches. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness.

 

“You know what I’m thinking about?” he whispers and kisses the back of my neck.

 

“No,” I murmur, content to lay here and let him keep doing what he’s doing.

 

“I’m thinking about that quart of chocolate ice cream in the freezer.” It’s not what I was expecting him to say, but my eyes jump open as the idea takes hold.

 

“You have my attention,” I say and he chuckles before kissing my neck again. Then he’s up and tugging me off the bed. We hurry into the kitchen, laughing as I slide across the floor in my socked feet. Peeta grabs the ice cream while I get the bowls and spoons. Within minutes, we’re seated at the table and enjoying the frozen treat. 

 

“Dear diary,” I say as I moan around my first spoonful and then stare at the smeared reflection of my face in the bowl of the spoon. “It has been seven months since my last ice cream. And even then, it was melted by the time I got to eat it.”

 

“That’s just sad,” Peeta says and grabs the container, adding another scoop to mine. “You need to catch up.”

 

“That’s a lot of empty calories,” I protest and he shakes his head.

 

“We’ll burn them off later,” he says, and although the comment could be perfectly innocent, my stomach does a strange flip and warmth pools in my chest in spite of the freezing chocolate in my mouth. 

 

Peeta keeps eating, oblivious to the effect of his comment, and so I continue to spoon one bite after another into my mouth, savoring it like I haven’t savored anything in months. In between bites, we manage to open a little more, share a few of the lighter tales of our time overseas. It’s relaxing, sitting here enjoying a midnight snack, him in his boxer briefs and a plain white t-shirt, me in my pajama shorts and a tank top. It feels like something we could do everyday, made special in its normalcy. Eventually, though, our spoons both scrape our bowls to get the last melted drops. I tip my bowl up and drink what the spoon can’t get.

 

“Are they useful calories if they’re slurped?” Peeta asks. When I lower my bowl to scowl at him, he’s grinning, blue eyes sparkling in laughter. And for just a second, I see the eyes of the boy I fell in love with in the face of the man I still can’t survive without. My bowl hits the table with a loud  _ clink _ and I wrinkle my nose at him. He bites his lip, like he’s trying not to laugh out loud.

 

“What?” I ask sharply.

 

“Nothing,” he says as he gathers both our bowls and rinses them before loading them in the dishwasher. I toss the ice cream back in the freezer and set my hands on my hips to glare at him. “It’s just, you’ve got some ice cream on your chin.”

 

I swipe at my chin as unwanted heat floods my cheeks and spreads down my neck. Here I was thinking maybe our relaxing midnight snack would help us leap the last unspoken hurdle, and I can’t even eat like an adult. Oh so sexy. But Peeta’s smile won’t be contained as he moves to stand in front of me and lifts his hand to my face.

 

“You missed,” he whispers, swiping his thumb over my chin. “And you call yourself a sharp shooter.”

 

His hand leaves me and his eyes still dance with mirth as he sucks the ice cream from his skin. In a flash, I am heated and restless, unable to look away from his pink lips as they pucker around his thumb or the deep pools of blue as he watches me. 

 

“That was mine,” I whisper and he pauses with his thumb still in his mouth. When he removes it, the silence of the kitchen shatters with the soft sucking noise of release.

 

“Come and get it,” he breathes. We stare at one another for what feels like ages, the moment strung tighter than a bow ready to fire. We snap at the same time, mouths colliding and hands grasping shirts and hair. 

 

Peeta steps forward, forcing me back until I’m sandwiched between him and the refrigerator. His mouth slants over mine again and again, ravenous and demanding. I can’t tell my moans from his as I frantically relearn the feel of his hair, the back of his neck, his shoulders beneath a soft cotton shirt. The taste of his tongue and the ridges of his mouth. When his hand cups my breast and kneads it in the same rhythm as the hand massaging the back of my neck, my fingers clench, scraping my nails over his skin. His hips thrust into me and we both moan as my stomach somersaults from hungry to rapacious.

 

Peeta flattens his body against mine and tries to say something that gets lost between our joined lips. His arms circle me, a steel band of support and I lift my feet to wrap my legs around his hips, trusting that he won’t drop me. With careful steps, he walks us back to the bedroom, but I refuse to stop kissing him.  _ A year _ . An entire year without his lips and hands on me.

 

We need to catch up.

 

When his knees hit the bed, our mouths jolt apart and I giggle as we flop onto it, Peeta’s hands and the soft mattress bracing the fall as we bounce and he smiles at me before he resumes kissing me, our hips pressed together as we shift restlessly against one another. My feet caress over the backs of his thighs and his hands encourage me, skimming over my legs and grasping my ankle to wrap my leg around him again.

 

I want our shirts off. I can feel the heat of him burning through the fabric that still separates us. I want it unfiltered on my bare skin. But I don’t want to stop kissing him to tell him that either, so I leave the clothes and let the need build and scratch at the hairs on his neck and the back of his head.

 

After who knows how many minutes of this, he comes up panting and tears at my shirt. Relieved, I arch my back and lift my arms so he can remove it to throw it across the room. I’m expecting him to take his off, too, and gasp as he instead fuses our mouths together, the cotton of his shirt dragging over my nipples. The unexpected stimulation does wicked things to my nerves, my legs pulling him closer in response, until the hard ridge of his arousal presses into the soft folds of mine. His hips buck in my embrace, the sudden pressure sending a frisson of need all the way out to my fingertips.

 

“Katniss,” he gasps as he lifts his head to transfer his mouth to my throat. Each word he speaks is kissed into my skin, lower and lower on my body. “Hold. Onto. Something,” he warns, pausing only to give each breast one quick, hard suck and a moan of appreciation before he moves on. “I have an entire year of not tasting you to make up for.” Until he reaches my pajama shorts and silently slides them and my panties down my legs, lays me bare to his gaze. I slip my hands beneath the pillow and grab hold of it while he stares at me.

 

“Say something,” I whisper when he remains quiet and still, staring between my legs beyond the point where I am still confident in his desire for me.

 

“Words aren’t enough to describe how incredible you are. I’ll just have to show you,” he murmurs.

 

The bed bounces as he drops heavily between my legs. With no warning or preamble, he wraps his hands beneath my thighs and holds me open, his mouth descends and he moans loudly as he suckles my folds. At first, I squirm, the sensation of being licked there distant and no longer familiar. But Peeta doesn’t let me hide behind shyness or uncertainty. His mouth is on a quest, and before long, I’ve forgotten time and distance, writhing beneath the onslaught that sets my entire body aflame with need.

 

I grip his hair and then mine. The sheets and then his hair again. I watch him until I can’t, my body taking over and banishing thought in favor of feeling as I crest and shudder, moaning gibberish into the night.

 

Instead of stopping, though, Peeta keeps going. His tongue pushing deep inside me to drink of me as I tremble and yell that I can’t. But apparently, I can, as he sends me careening over another peak when he flicks his tongue over my clit then sucks it into his mouth.

 

Falling limp, on the bed, I gasp for air and groan in beautiful agony. Still, Peeta gives me no reprieve, sliding his hands over my legs until he grips my calves and pushes my knees up until they touch my ribs, holding them pinned there.

 

“Peeta, please,” I beg, unable to articulate the searing feeling I can’t escape as his mouth continues it’s sweet torment. He takes it to mean that I want another, but it feels so good that each swipe of his tongue actually hurts. “Too much,” I finally manage to gasp.

 

Undeterred, Peeta’s head shakes as though he’s telling me “no,” but the result is a streak of pleasure so acute that I scream and kick wildly, thrashing on the bed violently enough to unseat him.

 

“Fuck!” I hear him exclaim, followed by a loud thud, but I am so lost in the shudders still wracking my body that I don’t realize what’s happened until the pounding of my heart calms enough for me to hear clearly again. It’s only then that I notice that Peeta’s not between my legs any more. Not even touching me nor even on the bed.

 

“Peeta?” I ask hesitantly and his laughter drifts up to me from the floor at the foot of the bed. Gathering my wits, I shift to the edge and peer down at him. He’s lying on his back, looking up at me with a pleased grin on his face, one hand behind his head and the other resting leisurely on his stomach. If it weren’t for the obvious strain of his cock against the cotton of his briefs, I’d think he was just reclining down there to get a rest.

 

“What happened?” I ask, self-consciously running a hand through my own hair and tucking strands back behind my ears.

 

“You came so hard, you kicked me off the bed,” he says, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it. He reaches up and grasps my wrist. “Come here.”

 

I squeal as he tugs me over the edge and onto his chest, but then I let go any embarrassment or doubt as he pulls me down to kiss him again. This time, it’s leisurely, allowing me a chance to recover from whatever the hell it is he just did to me. He reaches up and yanks the duvet down to cover us both as he ends the kiss, his arms cuddle me to his chest and I settle my head on his shoulder. He’s still hard against me, but doesn’t seem to be in a rush to find his own relief. As it was when I woke earlier, his hand traces delicately over my skin, my back this time.

 

A restless longing takes place in my breast, and even though he seems content to take things slow, this kind of hunger won’t be sated easily.  When he makes no move, I push myself off his chest and sit, straddling his hips.

 

“Where’re you going?” he asks quietly.

 

“Nowhere,” I tell him, but make my fingers walk down his torso towards myself. 

 

His eyes jump between my hands and my face as I watch him for any sign that he doesn’t want this as much as I do, but when my fingers curl beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, he lifts his hips from the floor and pushes them down his legs. I move my hips, dragging my still wet lips over the length of his cock. With a curse, Peeta drops his hips back to the floor, his shorts still somewhere on his legs as I take him in hand and keep up the steady revolutions of my hips over him, sliding him through both my hand and my lips.

 

“Oh fuck me, that feels like heaven,” he groans, eyes riveted to what I’m doing to him. I bite my lip and brace a hand on his thigh, and even though I just came three times on the bed, I already want another. Heat and blood pulse through me as I move and Peeta whines a little, his hands massaging my thighs.

 

I started this to tease him, but it quickly has me just as excited as him. I let go of his cock and instead grip his shirt, tugging on it like it’s a set of reins and the only thing keeping me from bucking wildly on top of him. 

 

“Katniss, please,” he begs and bites his lip, lifts his head and smacks it back on the floor in distress. “I wanna cum inside you.”

 

With a nod, I shift myself and he aligns us, releasing a string of expletives as I sink down onto him, his right leg kicking in rapid succession as he tries to hold back. Taking his face in my hands, I bend over and kiss him as we move. Short, sweet tastes as I slide up and down his cock. Peeta’s arms wrap around me, hold me close as he draws hearts and swirls on my back, guides my hips in riding him. I try to keep it slow, but he kneads my ass and pushes my hips so they roll over him instead of bouncing. My body grasps hold of the pleasure and I take it, following his lead until my legs start to cramp and I have to straighten them alongside his, laying my body flat on top of him.

 

When I can move again, I slide up his body and keen into the night as he curses beneath me. It’s the best of both, taking his cock in and out while still grinding my clit against him. I grab his chin and hold him so I can stare into his eyes, foggy with need and deeper than the ocean. He whispers to me, dirty words in broken phrases.

 

“I dreamt about this every night, alone in our bed and then in my bunk. How fuckin’ sexy you are when you’re on top of me, my cock deep inside you. Jerking myself off when my balls ached with the need to come. I’d have to bite my lips so no one would hear me and blow my load in a shirt or a sock and do laundry the next day. Fuck, Katniss,” he breaks off to swallow and kiss me a moment before I push his head back to the floor because I want his words right now.

 

“I’ve been starving for the feel of your lips anywhere on me I could get them, your legs around me, and fuck, your tits on my chest, god they feel so good there. And your pussy. I’ve needed your pussy on my cock every day since the day you left. Fucking starving so bad for the clench of your walls and the smoke in your eyes as you come for me.”

 

I grip his shoulder and move faster, his words drawing forth a greater arousal and making the slide smooth and easy as breathing. But it’s not enough to get me there. I whimper and tell him that I need more and he grips my thighs, spreading me wide over him as he bends his knees and leverages himself on his feet to thrust up into me. He’s groaning loudly, getting close as I still lag behind him. And for some reason I think of the night I first mentioned the possibility of our future together. I had no idea where we’d be on this night, but I remember the tremulous way he’d offered me an out, if I’d wanted it. How scared and brave he’d looked as he tried to hide the hurt that just the thought my leaving caused him. Then how he ceded control to me without question and let me fuck myself sore and hoarse on him.

 

“Pull my hair, Peeta,” I urge and brace myself to help.

 

“What?” he asks with wide eyes.

 

“Pull my fucking hair,” I order him and his hand shifts to grip the short locks. Then I borrow the words that sent me hurtling towards my own orgasm all those years ago. I’ve never forgotten them. “Now take what you want. Your cock wants it so bad. I can  _ feel _ it. Hot and pulsing inside of me.”

 

He makes a strangled noise as his fingers tangle in my hair and his hand yanks on me, slamming our bodies together again and again as pain tingles across my scalp then mellows into pleasure.

 

“Stop holding back and fill me with your fucking cum,” I demand and my muscles ache with the effort of maintaining this pace, but he shouts my name and his hips jerk erratically as his eyes squeeze shut. He stops moving, but I keep going, milking him until he grabs my ass and shoves me down onto him even as he thrusts up into me one last time. We remain there, hips suspended above the floor while he finishes with an elongated moan.

 

When he relaxes, dropping us to the floor, I take his lips with mine and kiss the shuddering breaths from his throat. His hands flex and clench on my ass and then start my hips rolling again, and before I can think or prepare myself, I shatter with a soft sigh, my clit pulsing against him as warmth and wonderment floods through me.

 

Peeta makes a sound of contentment in his throat as his leg spasms once more before we lay there, a mess of heavy breathing and finally sated bodies. 

 

“Too long,” he groans, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath my cheek. “A year is far too fucking long to go without you.”

 

“Yeah,” I agree. Then, because I am an idiot and don’t think before I speak when I am a melted puddle spread across him, I say something stupid. “How long do you think we can live like this?”

 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, shifting us so that we’re eye to eye. “But I’m willing to work for us for the rest of my life, if that’s what it takes, Katniss.”

 

“Me, too,” I whisper and kiss him once more to seal the promise.

**Author's Note:**

> This one is only three chapters and is already written in its entirety, so it'll go up fast. No long waits this time! :-)


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